Princess Phoebe
by AshBax
Summary: Christian and little Phoebe's tea party date.


_**Here's a story about Christian and Phoebe I was inspired to write. Hope you enjoy! I'll have an update on baby Teddy soon. This is just for fun. xo**_

I have a date this afternoon with a younger woman. She's stunning, confident and much smarter than me. She asked me last weekend via special invitation, delivered by a courier to my office who looked a lot like her mother. It was a heart shaped, lace trimmed thing cut out of construction paper and covered with puppy dog stickers, colored glue and glitter that I still can't get off my hands. In fact, I went through an entire day's worth of meetings with sparkles in the parts of my hair I run my fingers through. It's going to be a formal affair. We're having high tea at her palace and I've been told to wear the suit I play busy-ness man in. The invite states I must come alone, but she's bringing a few of her ladies in waiting, her hamster who she calls Count Chester, and a goose that wears a bonnet.

"I can't believe you bought Phoebe a real pink diamond tiara," Ana says, eyes wide as she lifts the dainty little crown from the signature red Cartier box she's more than familiar with. I had it specially designed for the occasion. I had no idea how hard it would be to find so many pink diamonds of good size and quality on such short notice. But, I threw in an extra cash incentive and a pair of earrings for Ana, so they got the job done.

"Well, it's a date in a palace with a princess, I couldn't come empty handed. Count Chester would exile me from the kingdom." That fucking hamster hates me. I try to be nice and pet the thing, but he's not happy until he tastes my blood. He may fool everyone else, but I know what he's doing when he runs on that wheel going nowhere- training for battle with my thumbs. I think he knows I motioned against his purchase in the family meeting. I still say Teddy's stuffed pig shouldn't have had a vote, but even without the swine contingency, I still would've lost. Remember that time you were in control, Grey? Yeah, neither does Count Chester.

"Look at the inscription on the inside," I say, proudly, pointing to the delicate cursive script above the right hair comb.

"Petite Princesse de Papa," she reads, smiling as she traces the lettering with her fingertip, then looks up to me. "Daddy's Little Princess." She holds it to her heart."That's so beautiful. But, you could have bought her a toy one."

"You can't be a real princess with a fake crown!" I shake my head, failing to hide my outrage at such a notion. "Do you think she'll like it?" I fail to hide my nervousness, too.

"No," Ana says, seriously, and I frown. "She will love it!" I smile. "But, it's so expensive. She's only four. Maybe you should wait a few years..."

"A few years?" Is Ana crazy? I could hardly wait in the store when they were wrapping it up, how am I supposed to wait years?

"She could break it."

"I don't care about that." All I care about is the way her eyes light up when I give it to her. There is nothing better for a father than watching his child's dreams come true and knowing he had some part in it. "Besides, this isn't just a fun gift, it's educational." I throw out the bait. That'll reel Ana in to my side. She's the Scrooge at Christmas who wants to give the kids reading materials and puzzles and clothing. What kid wants to open books and socks on Christmas morning? Lucky for them their father has no practicality in gift giving and an unlimited charge account at FAO Schwartz.

"Really?" she snorts.

"Yes, really. But, it's better than the shit they teach in school. This is a real world life lesson."

"What's the lesson? That her father will get her anything her heart desires?"

"That she should expect the best. Command her kingdom! You don't want her to be the kind of girl that accepts cheap jewelry do you?"

"Oh no, when you get that kind of reputation it's impossible to live down." She giggles.

"You won't be laughing at me when she's CEO of her own company one day."

"I didn't know being a princess is on the career trajectory to becoming a CEO."

"Of course it is. Princesses are business women. They expect top quality and results and manage the masses."

"Well, she manages Daddy quite well." She smiles, packing the crown back in its little red box and then placing it in the signature bag.

"Besides," I say, as she fusses with the tissue paper, fluffing it fancy. "I want the first jewels she ever receives to be from a man who loves her unconditionally, forever." Emotion catches in my throat. "And I want her to remember the day her father crowned her a real princess."

"Very flowery, Mr. Grey." Ana smiles warmly, tears welling up.

"Yeah well, certain brunettes with big blue eyes have that effect on me." She reaches over, puts her hand on my cheek, and kisses me softly.

"What was that for?" I murmur against her lips.

"For being you." She points her finger and taps my chest, fiddling gently with a button. I pull her into my open arms and wrap them around her waist. "You spoil us." she says, beaming like she does and I kiss the tip of her nose.

A breeze blows through the open window and her locks billow like spun brandy silk off her shoulders. She's stunning, sunlight spilling on her hair and lighting her eyes like it was made to do just that. She took my breath away that first day in my office and never gave it back.

"It is my life's mission, you know that." I kiss the side of her hair, inhaling her sweetness. "And you spoil me, too." I look down at her chest pressed against mine and run my hand along her shoulder, casually sliding it across her breasts to undo the top button of her blouse. "You're especially spoiling me in this get-up." I lean down and kiss her neck, her chest, then move my mouth to her cleavage.

"My get-up?" She feigns offense. "It's Dolce & Gabbana."

"Oh Daddy wanna." I unhook another button revealing more of her black lace bra. God, her breasts are glorious. How did I get so fucking lucky to have a wife with such perfect fuckable tits?

"What do you think you're doing, Mr. Grey?" she pants.

"Making love to my wife on our own private island." She giggles as I cup her ass and sit her on the island in the center of our kitchen, inching her skirt up her thighs as I wrap her legs around me. She has stockings on. The fucking end of me. I throw my head back and close my eyes as my erection stirs. Skimming the skin above the lace, I slide my finger under the garter and unhook it.

"I have a web meeting in twenty minutes," she says, gasping as I unhook its match. "What will they think of me looking like this?" She moans in carnal appreciation as I pull a breast out from her bra cup and suck the nipple.

"That you're well fucked by the big boss." I continue to lavish attention on her peak, pulling and twisting it with my teeth.

"Don't you have a date with a younger woman?" she asks, as I start in on the other one.

"You're right, I do." I stand up quickly, straightening myself and the soldier saluting my wife and her boobs of glory. "Rain check, Mrs. Grey." I give her a gentle kiss as she pops each peach back into its proper basket and proceed to put on my tie. It's the one Phoebe gave me for Father's Day. It's got hot pink and purple polka dots on it that Phoebe said would make the land of mergers and acquisitions or rather "murders and all cute kittens" more fun. I'm not quite sure what she thinks I do all day, but she's right, I smile every time I wear it, no matter the looks I get at meetings. My daughter gave it to me and I love it.

"Let me help you with that." Ana says, tying my knot. There was a time when I didn't do dates and I was the only one tying the knots. I never in a million years thought I would actually tie the big knot with a girl who would be readying me for a date with our daughter. There was also a time I couldn't be touched and now I'm tackled, hugged and pounced on with no warning, daily. I don't even remember the man from that time now. He's been replaced with a clown in a polka dot tie and glitter in his hair who can't stop smiling.

"How do I look?" I clasp Ana's hand as she finishes her work and bring it to my lips.

"Very handsome, Mr. Grey."

"I'll stop by your bed later for a booty call." I wink and she laughs as I give her a quick kiss and pick up the red bag carrying Phoebe's crown. "Right now, I have a date with a princess."

#######

Taylor drops me at the nursery school ten minutes to the hour. I always arrive early when picking up my children. I don't want there ever to be a day where either of them look for me and I'm not there. Especially, my little girl. Hell, I'll even be there when she's not looking. I have detailed plans of attack for summer away camp, junior prom and college.

"Do you want me to get her?" Taylor asks every time we do this.

"No, I'll pick her up. We have a date, after all." I can see Taylor smile as I get out and shut the door. He knows first hand what daughters do to fathers.

The school, although top in rankings and recommendations, is a mess. If chaos was hiring a classroom, this one would be overqualified. It's one of those free spirited, globally minded places that promote coloring outside the lines, talking at length about feelings and long naps. Of course, Flynn's kids went here. They try to instill the belief that money doesn't matter, but charge you $40,000 for that belief to be instilled. Much like sessions with Flynn. No wonder he loves this place, it's full of millionaire hippies. I would prefer for Phoebe to be home schooled, away from so many other children, but I was outvoted on that one, too. It was only Ana and me voting this time, but in a tie, I have learned, the wife always wins.

I walk into a room full of the kind of educational toys Ana likes so much. The ones that kids throw down as soon as they get them, evidenced by the floor beneath me. A sea of rug rats with snotty noses are shoving about, but no Phoebe. Where's my girl?

"Mr. Grey," a high pitched voice pierces me from behind. Fuck, it's that teacher who moons all over me with the bottle blonde braids and blue contact lenses that look more like alien invasion than Swiss miss. What's her name? Miss Pippi? Miss Hanagan? Miss Attila as in the Hun?

"Bye, Miss Tilly!" One of the snotty nosed boys waves to her as he leaves, wiping his booger picking hand on his pants and leaving a snail trail. I was close with the name. Snot Pants clutches the hand of his eyewear heavy mother and she waves, too. But, not at Teach Tilly, at me! I don't even know the woman, but she certainly wants to know me better by the way she's batting her lashes through those thick magnifying lenses she calls glasses. It looks like a science experiment on a spider gone terribly wrong. I turn away, ignoring the call of the wild. This preschool has some of the horniest, ugliest women I've ever met. How did anyone want to fuck them enough to make them mothers? I wish they'd all leave me the hell alone. Don't they know how hot my wife is?

"Miss Tilly," I say, turning around to face her. She's hard to face. She wears a dress that looks like it belonged to her mother's mother the night her prom date refused to take her virginity. She's also wearing a flower of oddly large proportions near what I think is her shoulder but could be a linebacker's gear. I don't recognize the bloom, but I get the feeling if you sniff it, it'll attack. Much like Miss Tilly.

"Please, Mr. Grey. Call me Till." I swear, her voice just dropped five octaves. What is she fucking Lauren Bacall all of a sudden? She gives me a come hither look that alerts any man with a penis to run farther. "What can I do for you?" She thrusts her cone shaped breasts forward. It's obvious she's wearing one of those foam bras they sell at discount stores that call themselves 'cross your heart' and advertise you can wear them for 24 hours straight. More like put a big 'X' over them so you know where to avoid and no one's gonna try to take it off ever.

"I'm here to pick up my daughter."

"She's playing in the sandbox." She moves closer. I step back. That smell! A mix between baby powder, Play-Doh and toxic pit odor. "Cartier?" she asks, trying to sound classy, and oddly British, but failing when she pronounces the "er" hard at the end as she reads the bag. See Ana, this is what happens to a woman who accepts cheap jewelry, Cartier becomes Carters. "Who's the special gift for?"

"For my daughter." She stops smiling.

"So expensive for a four year old!" Mind your own fucking business lady. You'll never have any of my jewels, family or other. Go home and boo boo over your empty box.

"I could stand around a chat, but I won't. Where is she?"

She points to the door and I'm out.

The day is bright. Sounds of children playing in a yard and birds singing in the blooming trees fill the air. By all accounts, a perfect afternoon. Until my eyes catch the horrific scene playing out before me and this dream of a day turns into a nightmare.

"Oh. My. God." I gasp, holding my fingers over my open mouth. I'm frozen watching what no father should ever have to witness. A little boy, standing in front of my little girl, surrounded by a pre-k crowd and some fat kid holding an open book, says "I do" as he places a pink plastic ring on my Phoebe's finger. In my stupor it takes me a moment or two to get it. They're getting fucking married!

And if I thought things couldn't get worse...

"You may kiss the bride," the fat kid, holding what I can see now is a 'Curious George Goes To the Town' book, says and the kiddy crowd cheers. The little boy leans in to Phoebe with a puckered pout, ready to go to town himself on my daughter! And what's worse, she puckers her pout right back. They're going to kiss!

"Noooooo!" I shout, running right through a sandcastle, past its sobbing builder and landing my foot right in his sludgy bucket. But, I don't stop. Rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor sludgy bucket will keep me away. I just kick it off as I race across the play yard to object the nuptials. "Phoebe!"

"Hi Daddy!" she waves. Her cheap, pink ring hanging off her hand like cancer.

"What is going on here?" I ask, louder and more bear like than intended, as I scoop her up, and kids fearing frowny face demerits for the day and long talks with Tilly, scatter.

"We got married," Phoebe says, thrusting the bauble in my face.

"No, you didn't!" I'm distracted by something white waving in the wind behind her. "What is that in your hair?" I discover she has a long piece of toilet paper taped to the back of her head.

"My veil." Oh my god. I take it off of her and wad it into my pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my sneaky little wanna be son-in-law trying to make a run for it.

"Where do you think you're going?" I call out, and the little shit stops and turns around slowly. Who dressed him? He looks like a sixty year old accountant who retired to Boca. Who gives a kid a gold watch and leisure loafers and expects him not to get the shit beaten out of him by his classmates? How the hell did he get my daughter to marry him?

"I was going to go play in the other sandbox," he squeaks.

"You think you can just trade boxes whenever you see fit? That's not how marriage works, kid."

"I don't know."

"You don't know much, do you?"

"No, sir. I haven't gone to the college yet." Is this little shit trying to be funny?

"Who are you?"

"My husband!" Phoebe squeals. "And we're gonna have this many babies..." She holds up four fingers. I'm about to have a coronary, an aneurism and a stroke all at once.

"I am Albert Zachariah Pott from 417 Beaver Creek Way,..." He pauses like he's thinking. "South." What the hell? I almost feel sorry for this kid. This is how he's going to be in life. He'll never get out of middle management, if he ever gets there at all.

"Pott? Just one? No 's' on the end?" He nods again. Is he agreeing or disagreeing? I try to recall all the parents Welch ran background checks on and what dirt I have on them. He's not the guy who steals cable and Internet, that was O'Dell. The guy who started that eco friendly commune? No, that was Whittaker and he just talks big. He may free love it up in a tent in the woods, but he drives a Mercedes SUV and has a bank account on one of the islands to dodge taxes. Oh yes, I remember now, Arnold Pott, the beer gut in medical sales that went to "the convention".

"I'm Mrs. Pott, now." Phoebe says, showing off that ring again.

"You are no such thing! No Grey will ever be a Pott!" I turn to little Mr. Pott who's pressing his legs together like he has to use one. "Listen kid, tell your father something." He gives me an open mouth nod like those teenagers at McDonald's when you ask them for extra ketchup. "Tell him Mr. Grey says that if you, his son, don't have a public sandbox annulment and forever leave my daughter alone, everyone will find out about his tryst in Cabo with a working girl."

"What's a trust?" Pott scrunches his nose.

"Something your mother won't have in your father anymore if you don't do as I say."

"I don't know if I can remember all those words."

"Do your best. I'll have one of my men visit him to back you up."

"Okay, goodbye!" He nods like a bobble head and runs off.

"Have good day at working, dear!" Phoebe shouts after him, waving at him like he's leaving for war.

"Come along, Miss. Grey," I say, sternly, as I carry her out. At least I can still do that. My mind flashes to an image of her being sixteen when she argues with me over a boy. And then to her being twenty-something when my arguments mean nothing and I have to give her away to someone I can't stop from kissing the bride.

######

"Ana," I say, walking into the great room with Phoebe in my arms. She's getting so big. When did that happen? I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold her like this, so I hold her closer. "Ana!" I call louder.

"What is it?" Ana rushes out from her office. "I was on a conference call, what's wrong?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong! Phoebe was nearly attacked on the playground of that anything goes school you think so much of!"

"What?" Ana gasps. What happened?" She moves to examine Phoebe, who's giggling into my shoulder. Just like her mother. I shake my head. Self preservation is a joke to the Grey girls.

"Albert Pott, that's what happened! I want a restraining order against him."

"The little boy from her class? Why?"

"We got married, Mommy." She holds out her hand and that garish plastic ring and immediately Ana knows why. "It's a pink diamond! I never had a real jewel ever!" Emotion catches in my throat as I look down to the red bag in my other hand and set it on the end table. "It's like Mommy's married ring!" Phoebe squeals.

"No, it's not. Jimmy didn't spend half a million on that. His father is destitute. Everyone knows it."

"Christian!" Ana raises her voice and her brow.

"It's true. He's a drunk. Even his mail gets delivered to the bar." She looks at me like she thinks I'm kidding. Well, according to Welch, the IRS wasn't when they came looking for him there.

"What's des-tee-toot?" Phoebe scrunches her nose, sounding out the syllables. "Does that mean he farted?"

"It means the whole family's got cooties and you're never to touch him again." She giggles. Why does she think it's a joke? I'm sure his father caught something on that Mexico trip he can pass along.

"Phoebe," Ana says, keeping her eyes glued on me. Why don't you go see Mrs. Taylor? She has fresh baked cookies."

"Cookies!" Phoebe hops out of my hold in an instant and skips to the kitchen, easily forgetting her father for any sweet new treat that comes along. "I wanna show Mrs. Taylor my ring!" I watch her round the bend until she disappears from my sight. I remember watching her crawl down that hall, holding her hand as she toddled, and the first time she let my hand go.

"What happened today?" Ana asks, softly, as if she's approaching the wounded king of a scattering pride. I start to pace. The only thing to stop my head from exploding is constant, purposeful movement.

"Remember when I used to have those nightmares?" She nods. "This was worse." I run my fingers through my hair and pull at the roots. "That boy was shoving his lips in her face. If I hadn't been there..." I clench my fists and fight the urge to punch them through the wall.

"Maybe you misunderstood..."

"Ana, I know when predator lips are attacking. I saved you from the photographer after all!" She rolls her eyes. I may be pacing, but I never miss the old Steele upturn of the baby blues.

"He's only four and a half."

"A half?" I ask, outraged. "He's older than her?!"

"By 4 or 5 months."

"That's like years for adults!"

"And you're six years older than me..."

"You're reinforcing my point!" Two hands through my hair this time. "You didn't get a real kiss until you were twenty-one! Doesn't it bother you that your daughter's lapping you at four?"

"Why is there toilet paper sticking out of your pocket?" She points. There is.

"Her veil!" I grab the thing and try to throw it down, but the fucking tape she used sticks to me. I swat it and it sticks again. I repeat this action three or four more times until I finally rip it off, freeing myself of its demon clutches and throw it into the fireplace. Ana's bearing witness to this and I know she's thinking about sending an SOS to Flynn.

"Whatever happened today," she says in a calming voice that makes me more un-calm. "You stopped it."

"Damn right! But, what about the next time he strikes? And with these guys there's always a next time." I rub my forehead. "I want to have him expelled."

"I hardly think he's a threat," she laughs. "It was a peck."

"If that was a peck, then the photographer was taking you to church."

"He's a little boy."

"You just don't wake up one day and decide to be a sex offender. First, it's the sandbox kisses, then snapping bras and looking up skirts with a mirror on the shoe, and people like you laugh it off. Boys will be boys. Ha ha ha. But, the next thing you know you have a full blown rapist!" I shake some sand from my shoe. It's still sloshy in my sock from the bucket dunk. My outrage evidenced by the soggy, sandy map of zig zagged steps on the floor.

"They were just playing wedding."

"Exactly! And you of all people know what happens after the honeymoon... Babies!" Ana shakes her head at me like I'm being ridiculous or something.

"Christian-"

"Ana, you don't know about perverts, I do."

"I married one." She smirks.

"I mean the professional kind."

"Albert Pott is a professional?" Now she's laughing.

"This isn't funny. Do I look humorous to you?"

"Well..."

"This is the start, Ana!" I look up, seeing my long, terror filled future ahead.

"Of what?"

"Me vs. Mankind!" I lift the fireplace poker from its basket and cling to it, like a weapon against humanity.

"Mankind?" She draws out the word to emphasize what she perceives as its ridiculousness, but what I perceive as its truth with a capital TRUTH.

"Boykind, predator-kind, whatever...From this point on I'm going to have to be on high alert."

"You're always on high alert."

"I mean higher. Stratospherically high. I'm going to have to hire additional security dedicated entirely to my daughter's love life!" I stop and look at her in all seriousness, nearly breathless from my ranting. "These fuckers are wily, Ana. It's hunt or have your daughter be hunted out there."

"You didn't call Welch about this already, did you?"

"Of course, I did!" I say, waving my iron poker.

"Put your poker in the basket," she says and I do as I'm told. I think she said something like that to me last night. Different context. "I'd hate to see you when she's actually a teenager."

"They'd hate to see me coming, too. But, they won't. I'll always be two steps ahead. They'll never know what hit them."

"I'll warn her future husband."

"She's not getting married!" I stop in my tracks and look at her, appalled at such a thought. "Not until I'm dead and buried."

"Which will be in a half hour if you don't relax." Ana takes my arm and brings me to sit on the sofa with her. I exhale the breath I didn't know I was holding. I try to take in a fresh one, but my chest is burning with so much emotion, air is hard to come by.

"Don't you want her to meet the man of her dreams someday, like I did?"

"If that fucker wants anything like what I wanted with you,.." I clench every part of my body all at once. Even places I haven't clenched since my teen years when I heard the vibrating strap-on coming."I'll murder him with my bare hands! No better yet, a rifle!"

"You don't shoot."

"You could teach me. You've always wanted to. Now, I've found a use for the sport."

"Shooting Phoebe's boyfriends?"

"All's fair in love and war, Ana. Some idiot says he's in love with her, it's war."

"So you think my dad should've shot you?"

"Yes."

"Come on," she says, stroking my arm and resting her head on my shoulder. Buttering me up. "You turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me, along with our children, of course."

I sigh, propping my elbows on both knees and putting my face in my hands. After several moments of hiding in the darkness of my palms, I lift my head and rest my chin on my steepled fingers. I look at an array of family photos above the fireplace, landing on one of Teddy with a newborn Phoebe in his lap.

"Wasn't it just yesterday we brought her home in that pink blanket my mother gave us and Teddy threw that fit?"

"Oh yes," she laughs. "He packed up his little suitcase, marched to the front door, stomped his foot and said "she or me!" I smile. Ana imitates little Teddy well.

"I had to sit him down, man to man, over some hard drinks of milk, and tell him we were like sheriffs and it was our job to protect her..." I look to the far end of the mantle. There's a picture of me holding Phoebe when she turned one. She's got cake all over her face and hands, and she's kissing my cheek, making me a mess, too. I have the biggest, goofiest smile and she's looking at me like I'm the greatest man alive. I sigh.

"I can't outrun them, Ana."

"Who?"

"All of them. If it's not Albert Pott, then some other idiot and another one after that." I take her hand and hold it to my chest. "I just worry..."

"That she'll end up with an idiot?"

"No, that she'll find someone who's not." I exhale. "Daughters, huh?" I give Ana a bittersweet smile.

"You'll always protect her." She strokes my hair. "Don't be scared you can't."

"I'm not." My eyes start to mist, so I close them. "I'm scared she won't need me to."

"A girl always needs her daddy."

"I hope so." I kiss her fingers and bring our joined hands to my lap.

"You didn't give her the tiara?" she asks, tentatively, as I brush her knuckles with my thumb.

"I didn't have a chance. Besides, she's in love with that ring. I just can't compete with Albert Pott today."

"What about your tea party date?"

"I think she's forgotten all about it-"

"Daddy!" Phoebe's voice echoes through the hallway as she runs to us, dressed in the pink taffeta and lace princess dress I had specially made for her, along with her Cinderella red soled, kitten heeled slippers that were handcrafted by Louboutin himself. And no ring!

"It's time for our date!" she says, and I smile wider than I have all day. It's like the clouds have parted and the sun has returned to my life. She grabs my hand and tugs me up from my seat. I can see Ana smiling, too.

"You still want to have it?" I ask, nervous for the response.

"That's a silly question, Daddy," she says, giggling.

"Are you laughing at your father?" I know that she is and for some reason that makes me the happiest son of a bitch on the planet.

"Yes!" Her giggles turn into a full on riot of hysterical proportions.

"Well, I don't know," I say, teasing. "You're a married woman now. You can't really date..."

The laughing subsides as she throws her hands down, dramatically. "That's over!"

"Already?" I ask, my heart dancing with glee over those two glorious little words. "What happened?" The length of that marriage makes the Hollywood variety look like Grandma and Grandpa growing old on the front porch.

"He's been kissing Meredith Cho." Fucker gets around.

"Who told you that?" I ask.

"Meredith Cho. She called and we're gonna throw sand at him, prolly after naps tomorrow."

"Good idea. You'll be well rested. Aim will be better."

"Phoebe," Ana says, giving me the eye. "No fighting!"

"Not so fast, Ana. A girl's got to defend herself against a cheat." Ana folds her arms and shakes her head at me. I lean down to Phoebe and whisper. "Remember what I taught you..." I imitate the old Claude one-two punch and she does it back. "That's my girl."

"And then kick him in the boy parts!" She imitates the kick I taught her, too.

"No! Don't take it that far this time!" I smile at Ana and then move to pick up my little red bag.

"Wait!" I say, as the information hits me late. "You talk on the phone with your friends?" Phoebe nods. "I thought that didn't happen until at least Junior High."

Both Ana and Phoebe roll their eyes.

Fuck, I have to monitor the phone now, too. And not just calls! Text messages, tweets and whatever other communication nightmare is coming for me as she grows up. Why isn't Teddy doing any of this stuff? He doesn't have conversations or marriages or adulterous ex spouses he needs to throw sand at. He and his friends just play ball and beat each other up.

"We're in trouble, Ana," I whisper to her.

"We are," she laughs.

"Ready, my lady," I hold out my arm to my fair Phoebe and to my delight she takes it. She starts to skip as she heads off for her palace, pulling me along behind her.

"Skip, Daddy!"

I move to join her, although I don't think I ever really learned how. As always with Phoebe, I just hold my breath and follow her lead. Christian Grey, skipping fool. I grin. Who would've thought...

#######

We arrive in a carriage made of glass and drawn by four white horses with braided manes tied in rainbow colored ribbons. A little old man who hops like a rabbit and wears white satin coat tails, opens our door and shows us to the sky high iron gates of the pink palace- pink like bubble gum, not like the polkadots on my tie. Or, so I'm told all this by Miss Phoebe as we make our way down the hall.

"What a lovely palace you have here," I say, as I play-act to open the imaginary gates and lead us to the gilded door, escorting her inside.

It's a grand affair. The already princess worthy room has been transformed into a castle draped in petal pink colored mesh, violet bows, and hanging lights that look like gumdrops sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. The design team outdid itself. There's a white cake adorned with royal purple roses that I know Ana helped her bake. I can tell by the swirl of the buttercream and the writing on top that says: _Phoebe's Royal Tea Party._ I feel like Alice when she landed in Wonderland, only without the big blue skirt, the walking card people, and the drugged out cat.

Everyone expected is in attendance, including our own Mad Hatter, Count Chester. He's wearing a purple satin top hat and matching cape Gail made for him, per Phoebe's designs, complete with sequin and faux fur trim and his name emblazoned on the back like Liberace. I almost expect him to belt out a tune and tap dance across the china.

"Why doesn't Chester have to sit in a seat?" I ask, as Phoebe plays hostess, filling teacups with lukewarm water, because she's not allowed to handle the hot stuff.

She scrunches her nose. "He's short. He may be sitted on."

"Fair point well made, Miss Grey." I smile, then frown, not wanting to envision the clean up of a purple satin cloaked Chester pancake with his name on top.

Two Barbie dolls in tutu dresses with big hair, high heels and no underwear are sitting on their plates to my right. Reminds me of Ana when I took her to meet my parents, only she wasn't sitting on the table with her legs spread, so no one could see up her skirt. If I didn't know they were dolls, I'd think they were prostitutes. I try not to look at their bare nether regions. It's quite embarrassing. I would ask Gail to make some panties for the dolls, but that sounds too strange, even coming from me.

The goose and I get a chair each, except mine is so small, I have to hold myself partially up with one ass cheek and try and avoid knocking the table over with my knees.

"Which tea would you like, Goose Mary?" Phoebe asks, and the goose must respond because she fills the cup with water, a bag of strawberry mint and a cube of sugar.

The Barbies don't eat anything. Skinny models. I shake my head. Is it possible to feel annoyed that dolls aren't eating? Chester is more than happy to pick up their slack in the consumption department. He crawls across, nabs their cheese on a cracker, and pulls it back to his plate.

Phoebe moves to me with her basket of selections. "Tea, Count Grey?"

"I'm a Count, too? Like Chester?"

"Of course, you're brothers!"

"Chester's my brother?" She nods and he lifts his nose, exposing his front teeth in threat. This really is a medieval tale. Brothers fighting for the fair maiden's hand and the keys to the kingdom. I have to admit, he is a better opponent than Albert Pott, and cuter than Elliot.

She holds out the tea selection again to me.

"Twining's English breakfast, please."

"That's Mommy's tea."

"I know. It's my favorite." She hands me a bag and in Ana's honor, I dunk it quickly and place it on the side of my dish.

"Count Grey," Phoebe says, returning to her chair and her own teacup. "Did you know Fiona and Elizabeth travelled on horsey back from the other side of the whole widest part of the world for 70,000 million hours to get here today?" She's breathless by the end of that run-on.

"Who are Fiona and Elizabeth?" She points to the panty-less duo. "Well, that's quite a distance. Makes rush hour with Taylor seem like a breeze." I laugh. They just stare ahead. So does Chester, but he's occupied with the cheddar.

"They make dresses and doctor cats, when they don't bake things." These two bake in no underwear? I hope they didn't help with the cake.

"Better watch out, Chester," I turn to him. "They fix up the enemy." He twitches his nose up at me and crawls into his empty tea cup, ass and tail straight in the air.

"Count Grey, where is your hat?" Phoebe asks.

"I don't know. I think my brother stole it." She pulls him by his tail, much like a teabag, out of the cup. His top hat is halfway down his back, so she straightens it and sets him back on his plate, giving him some scone that he goes to town on. I'm surprised he's not seventy-five pounds with all he stuffs in his face.

"Here!" She moves to her rack of dress-up clothes and pulls a purple cone shaped hat with matching netting and magenta colored ribbons flowing down from the top and places it on my head, pulling a rubber band like thing attached to each side and snapping it under my chin. I think it was made for a tree sprite, because the strap on- or more appropriately put, elastic band- is nearly choking me.

"You'll be the fairy!" she says.

"I thought I was the Count?" My jaw can barely move harnessed in this thing.

"Now, you're the fairy." I look over at Chester. I think he's laughing at me.

"But, you don't look like one." She frowns.

"I don't?"

She shakes her head and scrunches her nose.

"You need sparkles."

"Sparkles?"

"Sparkles."

"Isn't my sparkling personality enough?"

"I'm gonna do make up!" I guess not. She jumps up and flies over to her vanity.

"You are?" Gulp.

"Here," she pulls out her My Little Pony makeup kit. I know it, since I bought it for her. Maybe the educational toys weren't such a bad idea. Since when do ponies wear cosmetics, anyway? Since when do I? Obviously, today.

"You need the eye shudders," she says, looking me over.

"What are those?" I ask, terrified.

"Colors." Oh, eye shadows. Thoughts of ocular electrocution premature.

She debates between a navy blue frost and an aquatic blue shimmer and decides on aqua, smudging it on both lids. "This is your color," she says like one of those girls at the department store trying to sell you on it.

"Does it bring out my eyes?"

She nods. "Your eyes look like clouds when it rains."

"Thank you." I think...

"Now the blushes."

"Fairies blush? I thought they twinkled?"

"We'll get there," she says as she swirls my cheeks with a pink that I've only seen on clowns and trophy wives at corporate dinners.

"And now lipsticks." She smears a shade that matches my cheeks on my pucker. I think she missed most of my lip and got my chin and nose instead.

"Is this my color, too?" She gives me a thumbs up.

"And lastest is the sparkles!" She pulls out a tube of multicolored glitter and proceeds to throw pinches of it on my face and hair.

"Glitter storm!" I say, closing my eyes and mouth tightly as she pelts me with more. "Is this fun for you? Torturing your father?"

"Yes!" she giggles and throws more. Finally, the tube is empty and I slowly open my eyes as she holds up the pony mirror to me. "See, now you are a real fairy!"

I take a gander. "I certainly am." I'm an absolute mess. Reminds me of the cake. I smile so big I could light up the city at my made up self and place the mirror on the table. "You are a very talented makeup artist." She smiles, bashful, tucking her face into her shoulder. "Now, tell me. What does the fairy do?"

She shrugs. "Makes magic happen."

I take this as my cue to do just that.

"Well, as your Fairy Godfather, I have announcement to make. May I stand?"

"Yes, fairy." she says and I rise, the small seat strangling my ass comes with me. I somehow manage to peel it away without much fanfare and leave it behind as I lift my behind and stand.

"I have been entrusted to present you with something from the far off land of Grey Manor."

Phoebe's eyes light in anticipation and there is no greater sparkle.

"I have a decree to read first, may I?" She nods, giving me that same look she has on Christmas Eve when I tell her Santa's on his way. I reach into my own red bag near my feet and pull out a rolled up scroll. It's written in script by my hand on authentic parchment I had Taylor search far and wide for. I unroll it and clear my throat, readying to read.

"Here ye, here ye,..." The crowd, mostly inanimate or not of this species, is pin drop silent. But, all I care about are the blue eyes on a snow white face that are glued to me anticipating something magical to happen.

"I hereby declare, by the kingdom of Grey, that from this day forward we have an official Princess." Phoebe's eyes grow large as she waits with bated breath for the announcement to be made. I can see her clicking her shoes, nervously, under the table. "Her royal highness, Miss Phoebe Grace Grey." I start to applaud.

"Me?" Her eyes glimmer and I can't help but smile. At four, she whole heartedly believes in fairy tales. And I will do my damnedest to make sure she always will. Because, standing here today, I know they really do come true.

"Yes, you. Please come up and accept your crown, Princess Grey."

As she makes her way to me, I'm taken with not only how much she looks like Ana, but how much she's like me. And in turn, how much she's like my mother. Not in the bad ways, but in the good. As she grows, I see it more. It comes to me in flashes at the oddest times. The way she'll say a word or a note she sings or how she plays with her hands when she's nervous. Today it's Phoebe's walk and the wave in her hair. At first, it alarmed me. But, not anymore. Because of my daughter, I can now love those beautiful things about my mother again. And, I don't hate her as I once did. How can I when I have all this? If it wasn't for all of her faults I wouldn't have my Ana and I wouldn't have my children. Whatever she put me through, whatever shitty, broken road I've been down has brought me here, to a palace, where I've been made a real fairy by my daughter and where I'm crowning her a real princess in return. Maybe there really is magic in that fairy dust and in forgiveness.

I kneel, most humbly, and present Phoebe with the red box. "Open it," I whisper.

Her hand trembles with excitement as she lifts the lid to reveal the sparkling pink diamonds on the tiara. She's spellbound as her small fingers touch the glittering jewels. My heart is melting like butter all over my soul.

"I will now crown the princess," I say as I lift the glittering tiara and place it on her head.

"Am I really a princess, Daddy?" her voice shakes, asking me in the sweetest, softest voice. I watch her as sunlight dances in the jewels, and more beautifully in her eyes.

"Yes, you really are." I smile, teary, and kiss the tip of her nose.

Standing, I pull out a remote from my pocket and press play. The song from "Beauty and the Beast", her favorite, starts on surround sound.

"May I have your first dance as Princess?" I ask, holding out my hand to her. She nods, curtsies properly, and then takes my outstretched palm. I pull her to me and she steps on both of my feet, piercing my toes with her little kittens heels as she nestles her feet to mine. I don't mind. I'll take the pain to have the dance. Holding both of her hands, I lead my baby girl in a royal waltz.

"Daddy," she says. "You'll always be my Prince."

"I thought I was a fairy."

"You're lots of things to me."

"As are you to me, Princess Phoebe." I smile, knowing one day I will be dancing this same dance before I hand her off to her real prince, but relishing in the fact that today is not that day.

"How about we make a deal, Princess?" She looks up at me with her big blue eyes. "How about I hold your Prince Charming's place for just a little while longer?"

She smiles. "Okay, Daddy."

And we dance the afternoon away. A real life princess and a dad covered in her fairy dust.


End file.
